


Fallout Sellswords

by scratchedagain



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fallout, No actual Fallout characters involved, Nominally Sellswords Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13424340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedagain/pseuds/scratchedagain
Summary: Artemis and Jarlaxle and their adventures in Post-Apocalyptic America.Actual Sellswords canon re-arranged and ignored to varying degrees.





	Fallout Sellswords

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this makes enough sense that it doesn't really require having played the Fallout games.

The job board in Louisville’s primary trading post was a dismal thing, all grey knotty wood planks framed with rusted steel bars and warped with age, pocked with hundreds of holes left behind from past notices. Few were posted at the moment, all small-time work and most looking for tradesmen of some kind. Artemis sighed, thoroughly uninterested in any of it. He moved to the side and slumped against the wall of the old bus station used to house the job board, scratching at the stubble grown thick on his chin and wondering how long he should stay in this city before moving on to the next. The hope for readily available work had been the only reason for him to make his way into Louisville to begin with and without it he had no reason to stick around. 

He stood there a while, thinking, before another man came up to the station, a scrap of cloth in hand. He looked Artemis over as he walked up to the board to nail up the cloth and once done, turned fully to him. He gestured at the long rifle slung around Artemis’s shoulder. 

“You a mercenary or a hunter?” 

“Mercenary.” Artemis nodded at the cloth and looked back to him. “You have work?”

“Sure do. Needing some guards for a trade run, actually.” He came over to Artemis and shook his hand. “Name’s Joseph. You want to walk and talk? Sheet over there just tells people to contact me anyway.” Thin and dirty like most common folk, the man nonetheless carried himself with more assurance than the mercenary had yet seen in the rest of the locals. He figured that was a good sign and picked up his duffel bag, looking to the trader to lead the way.

“What should I be expecting from this job?” 

“Boredom mostly, with a small chance that we’ll all die.” A wry grin followed this statement.

Artemis cocked a brow at him. Accurate as that might have been, few traders were so nonchalant about the realities of their work. Joseph shrugged at his expression.

“That’s life for you. No sense in pretending otherwise.” Artemis ‘hmm-ed’ in agreement and nodded, motioning for the other man to continue. Joseph filled him in on the job as they walked. As a trader he ran multiple caravans from Indianapolis to Nashville and every town between along the old Interstate 65. There was just one place he hadn’t yet made contact with - Mammoth Cave.

“There’s a Vault in there somewhere, but whoever’s in it has been real picky about visitors. Nothing came out of the place for a least a century after the war, as far as anybody knows. All closed up once the bombs dropped.” Joseph waved toward a ramshackle bar as he spoke, motioning for Artemis to follow.

“Folks down in Bowling Green say it was 50 or 60 years ago when something must have opened up, ‘cause suddenly damn near everyone who went anywhere near the old park ended up dead.” He grabbed a couple bottles of beer from a crate set by the main bar, tossing a handful of caps toward the bartender and he did so and headed over to the seating. He settled at a high table made of a metal sheet atop pillars of concrete blocks and set a bottle down in front of Artemis, who perched on a stool across from him.

“So why are you going?” He cradled the bottle in his hands but didn’t bother to open it as Joseph took a swig of his, grimacing. The trader pointed at him with the bottle.

“Because only _most_ of them died. And lately almost no one does, so long as they stay away from the entrances to the caves and the main buildings. There’s just talk of eyes staring at them from the darkness, this sense of being watched constantly.” He leaned forward across the table, crossing his arms in front of him.

“If these are Vault folk, it’d be worth it to try opening up trade, yeah? Even if they are a little touchy about their space. Vaults have got all kinds of equipment and supplies we don’t out here, even just a bit of medicine would be worth the effort.”

“So long as you don’t mind a ‘small’ chance that we will all die.” Artemis said, wryly. Joseph shrugged, no more concerned than he’d been earlier.

“I’m risking my own head too, not just yours.” He paused a moment, thoughtful. “’Sides, I really do think it’s a _small_ chance. My gut’s telling me this’ll work out.” Artemis rolled his eyes.

“And how many caps does your gut think this job is worth?”

“400 up front, another 400 on return. Trip ends up being successful - and by that I mean a trade agreement and me and my sis, Carrie, getting back alive - I can probably swing a bonus of some sort.” Artemis’s brows rose in surprise - that was not a small amount of money. He wondered if this job was a fool’s errand then, or if Joseph really did expect to get his trade deal. He leaned forward to stare into the other’s eyes.

“How small _is_ this chance of death?” Joseph snorted, took another drink from his beer and thunked the bottle down on the table between them with a smile.

“I mostly just do the talking, Carrie’s the one who does all the math.” Artemis frowned lightly at him. Joseph frowned back.

“Plenty of folks around here have made the trip down through that area, you know. You can talk to ‘em and confirm it yourself - it’s a quiet trip now.” The trader sat straighter, gaze steady. “I’m hiring a crew because I’ve been doing this long enough to know the one time I don’t is the one time every damn thing will go sideways. Better I spend the caps then spill my blood.” Artemis stared quietly a moment, but when the trader’s demeanor remained steady, he nodded.

“Fair enough. I’m to be a guard then. How long a trip is this?”

“If we make good time, about a week there and another back. Brahmin are slow.” Artemis nodded. 

“You are hiring others; I assume?”

“Three or four, yeah. Between y’all and my own team I’m hoping that’ll be enough if it comes to it.” 

“All right. When do we leave?”

“Soon as I get those few more, I doubt it’ll take long. Meet me here tomorrow morning and I’ll go ahead and give you the first half of your pay and a proper contract. I wasn’t expecting anyone right off the bat so I don’t have it on me.” Artemis nodded. Joseph raised his bottle in farewell and headed out, leaving the mercenary to his thoughts. He stayed seated a while, watching the bar around him and the people as they went about their evening. He realized eventually the bar had rooms available, but still did not go to rent one. Hours later, as night fell fully and more people came in to drink and carouse, he picked up his bag and left to find a dark corner in the city to rest, away from the noise.

————

After receiving his payment the next morning, Artemis set about exploring the city and learning more of the park he would be traveling to. A shift in accent and a change of clothes and he blended in easily enough, nudging conversation toward the tale of Mammoth Cave. The rumors and accounts he heard corroborated Joseph’s own explanation, even elaborated upon it. An old trader, retired only recently, confirmed the eyes in the darkness and the sense of being watched, swore he’d even heard voices echoing along the river though he could never hear the individual words. No one he spoke to had ever been willing to travel the full length of the river to the cave’s mouth, too afraid to go further. Even so, the assassin’s impression from the tales was of a place once deadly and now simply watchful.

Only a few days passed before Joseph had hired four more mercenaries - a small local group, all friends. Artemis spoke to them just long enough to decide he’d spend the trip as a forward scout so he wouldn’t have to listen to them. The day after that, the group headed out, two brahmin stacked high with merchandise - Joseph and Carrie weren’t sure what Vault dwellers might want and thus had decided to bring a little bit of everything. Even so, the two-headed beasts made good time the first few days, trudging implacably along the trail in the center of the group.

They slowed considerably on the third day as summer storms rolled in and forced the troupe to hole up in roadside shelters for hours at a time to wait, the brahmin too skittish to continue while the sky above rumbled. Artemis said nothing when the traders and mercenaries griped about the weather, though he agreed with the sentiment - a life spent in the deserts of the West left him with little love of being wet. He’d seen – and run from - the storms that rolled across the West though, all black fury and thunderous radiation, hordes of ghouls howling in their wake. The storms of the Midwest seemed benign in comparison, even if they did make the trip longer than any of them had hoped.

The turn off 65 onto a smaller road was marked by nothing more than a brahmin post, and the road itself was barely visible through the weeds grown up through it. Travel along the smaller path was no faster than it had been through the storms as they picked their way around fallen trees and old wrecked cars, Artemis frequently marking alternate routes around the worst hazards. Signs of previous travelers popped up occasionally as they went - mostly old campfires, but the occasional ragged tent or lean-to as well. Most of the land around them had regrown though, thick with weeds and brush where crops had grown centuries before.

Ten days after leaving Louisville the caravan finally reached its destination - an old church and cemetery nestled along one of the small roads long ago built within the park. Ahead of the group as he was, Artemis had a few minutes to look over the area before the others arrived. The church stood just off the road in what was once a small clearing. To the side the mercenary could just barely see a few tumbled headstones through the weeds grown thick. A few birds hopped between the branches of the forest, a rare sight in a world only just beginning to recover from the nuclear winter that had long coated it. A single vehicle sat toward the end of the clearing. Long since rusted out and crumbling, Artemis made a mental note to avoid it. He’d seen enough of the Pre-War vehicles explode for no reason at all and had no desire to be near it, just in case.

The church itself was in poor shape, roof collapsed inward and wood siding rotting away as it listed slightly to one side. The inside was empty but for a handful of scorch marks scarring one wall and a few small piles of broken glass. He walked softly through it anyway, always alert for hiding places where people or dangerous animals could hide. No such spots were revealed though, only a few pieces of spent ammunition and the stains of age. He judged it to have been some time since whatever caused the scorching, as everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.

The sounds of movement reached his ears as Artemis headed back to the entrance. Pausing a moment, he realized it was the caravan and frowned. He had little desire to interact with the group, but knew rejoining them would be prudent now they were in the Vault’s territory proper. He decided on the middle ground, waiting till the caravan had come within eyesight to wave that he was present. One of the traders waved back and with that he returned to his inspection of the grounds.

Wading through the grass around it, he headed around the building, pausing long enough to pass a sharp eye over the overgrown cemetery. He continued his walk, aiming to check around the back edge of the clearing, but as he reached the back corner of the church his instincts hitched ever so slightly. His pistol was up and forward by the time he turned the corner. Before him stood a man, leaning casually against the back of the church. Artemis, so accustomed to shooting anything remotely unusual without hesitation, found himself pausing in genuine confusion.

The man before him was the strangest looking being he’d ever seen. Skin so dark it could have been made of charcoal, he would have blended completely into the shadows behind the church were it not for his attire. A purple trilby banded in red and decorated with an over-sized feather sat atop a bald head. Beneath it, on large lightly tufted bat-like ears were rows of piercings in gold and jewels. A pair of blackened goggle covered his eyes. He wore no shirt, only a vest with bright yellow panels on the sides above a pair a grey leather pants. Tall boots in a darker grey rose to just below his knees. He pointed a ring-covered hand at the gun before him as Artemis fixed him with a questioning stare.

“That seems a rude way to greet the one you came here to meet.” Artemis frowned - the accent to the man’s speech was not one he recognized. He lowered his gun - but didn’t holster it - and stepped back a bit.

“What are you?” The other man smiled.

“A human, despite appearances to the contrary.” He tipped his hat at Artemis. “I am called Jarlaxle. You are?”

“Entreri.” Another smile.

“I am curious, is that your family name or your given name?”

“It’s what you can call me.” Now Jarlaxle chuckled, seeming genuinely amused. He crossed his arms and leaned against the church again. The sounds of the caravan had come much closer now, the heavy footsteps of the brahmin clear in the air. Artemis noticed that Jarlaxle’s ears moved, turning in the direction of the noise before pointing forward again.

“I will wait here, if you wish to speak to your companions. Let them know that if they truly seek to open up trade with the Vault, I am indeed the one they will want to work with.” Artemis was unwilling to turn his back on such an odd creature - potential trader or not- so instead he merely took several steps backward and turned just enough to call out for Joseph. The trader jogged over immediately at his expression, one hand on his pistol. The mercenary raised his hand to calm him and pointed with the other at the still-hidden Jarlaxle. Joseph walked slowly to Artemis’s side, head cocked to peek around the building. He froze at the sight of the colorful man, glanced uncertainly at Artemis, who shrugged.

“Joseph, Jarlaxle. He’s here to trade.” 

“Oh!” said the trader, shaking his head. “Well - good to meet you then!” He stepped forward, hand outstretched and doing his best to hide his confusion and misgivings at the sight before him. Jarlaxle met him with ease, smiling broadly the whole while.

“Likewise, good sir. Before we sit down and get to know one another, would you be so kind as to ask your compatriots not to shoot me? I imagine few people are quite so calm as Master Entreri.” Joseph nodded, held up a hand to bid the dark man wait and then jogged quickly around the building to let the others know. Jarlaxle smiled up at Artemis as he went. The assassin only cocked a brow at him before turning around and walking the other way, uninterested in the finer details of trade negotiation and far more concerned about the possibility of others hiding in the woods. 

He’d found no one else as he patrolled around the camp, though the sense of being watched grew ever stronger as he explored. The weight of it made the shadows of the wood seem more numerous than they should, leaving him wondering if it might be best not to sleep at all that night until one of the other guards came to let him know a deal had been made. He’d turned back to the clearing then, noting the other guards did not appear to feel the watcher’s eyes at all. Artemis spent a bit wondering if that should make him more or less suspicious before mentally shrugging and choosing to settle down a while and keep watch.

Some hours later, well after the sun had set Artemis sat with his back against a tree along the edge of the cemetery, facing away from the larger group. Lost in thought and distracted by recent memories, it took him a moment to notice when Jarlaxle suddenly appeared at his side. Artemis hid his start well, but judging by the raised brow on the darker man’s face, not well enough. He scowled as the other man crouched beside him, shifted the rifle in his grip. Jarlaxle held up his hands - empty.

“I’ve no designs against you Master Entreri. I only wished to come speak with you a while, if I might.” 

“Why?”

“It would be irresponsible of me to not learn more of those who are - and will be - traveling through my home’s territory. You are also the only one in this group I’ve yet to speak with - beyond our initial introductions, of course.” He settled his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, posture intent. 

“I would also love to know where you acquired such an impressive rifle.” Artemis immediately tensed again, but Jarlaxle only shook his head.

“Fear not, I’m not going to try to take it! Rather, I am genuinely curious. I have seen many of the travelers through this region, though they do not see me, and I have never seen such a weapon. Very few have such high quality equipment outside my own people, you see.” He cocked his head at Artemis. “Are you from a Vault?”

Artemis scoffed.

“No - thankfully! I’ve never once heard of a Vault that wasn’t destroyed or warped by some of Vault-Tec’s mad scientists.” Here he stared pointedly at Jarlaxle, who only grinned.

“All of the original Vault-Tec scientists in my own home were killed within a few years of the Great War. The ones that took over weren’t mad, just… enthusiastic.” He chuckled and wagged his ears at Artemis, who snorted.

“So _happily_ mad. Much better.” Jarlaxle laughed at his sarcasm, thoroughly amused by the assassin’s assessment. It was actually fairly accurate, though he suspected it would be best not to confirm that fact.

“Tell me then, where are you from? Or at least answer the original question - where is your gear from?” Artemis looked askance at him.

“Never before has anyone been so insistent on learning about my weapons. Are you a sniper then or just a fool?”

“I am an exceptional multi-tasker!” Artemis stared at him, unamused. Jarlaxle winked back - or so the mercenary assumed by the tilt of his head and movement of his brow - he couldn’t see through the goggles. Regardless, he’d never met someone so utterly amused by everything, and certainly not by him. Usually the opposite, he thought, smiling slightly at the thought of how quickly others simply fell silent in the face of his unrelenting stare. He looked down at his rifle - an Anti-Materiel rifle he’d claimed from the body of a ranger once bent on killing him - then back up at Jarlaxle.

“I acquired this from an NCR Veteran Ranger.” He waited while Jarlaxle looked at it, leaned forward onto the balls of his feet and fingers touching the ground for balance. The dark man raised his head to look at Artemis.

“What does ‘NCR’ stand for?”

“New California Republic. They’re trying to rebuild the government from before the war.” Jarlaxle hummed, brow raised.

“The arsenal too?” Artemis huffed.

“They don’t have the resources for that.” Jarlaxle nodded.

“Good! I doubt very much the world could handle another Great War.” He poked the rifle. “California, though. That’s quite a long trip, my friend.” Artemis pulled the weapon to the side, slapping Jarlaxle’s hand as he did so. Jarlaxle tsk-ed at him and huffed out his nose, surprising Artemis yet again - he would have punched anyone who dared slap him like that. Granted, he thought, I also wouldn’t go around fingering other peoples’ weapons. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, then continued.

“I didn’t get it in California, that’s just where the NCR is from. I was in Mexico when I acquired this.” Jarlaxle shook his head, hand now safely tucked against his chest.

“Mexico! That’s hardly any closer! You are exceptionally well traveled, far more so than anyone else in your caravan. Even Elicia has never been farther west than Kansas.” Artemis blinked, mind taking a moment to place the name with a face - one of the other guards. He hadn’t felt the need to learn much about the others in the caravan past his initial decision not to interact with them. Jarlaxle noticed his pause and raised a brow at him.

“What a joy you must be to travel with if you cannot be bothered to remember your companion’s names.” Artemis gave him a scornful glance, taking in the other man’s ridiculous attire.

“I doubt I’ll be forgetting anything about you.” 

“Why thank you!” Jarlaxle said, grinning fiercely. He clapped Artemis lightly on the leg, who immediately pulled it up and away. He glared at the cheerful man.

“That was _not_ meant to be a compliment.”

“Well I shall be taking it as such!” With that, Jarlaxle finally settled fully to the ground, legs crossed. He clapped his hands on his knees.

“Tell me of your travels! Are you from Mexico? Where else have you been?” 

Artemis opened his mouth to respond but paused suddenly, turning his gaze out into the forest. He’d caught just the slightest glimpse of movement from a creature not quite the right shape for a woodland animal. It ceased the second his eyes shifted toward it. He cocked his head slightly to the side, just enough to take in Jarlaxle’s expression. Jarlaxle nodded, gestured vaguely towards the trees.

“One of mine, yes. Surely you did not think me completely alone? You did spend quite a while on your walk-about.” Artemis adjusted his rifle in his lap again, resting his hand lightly near the trigger. He turned back to face Jarlaxle, who glanced down at the barrel now pointing at his midsection. The dark man smirked back up at the mercenary.

“I was not lying when I said I had no designs against you, Master Entreri. Nor against the others. But I prefer to have backup, just in case.” 

“I saw no sign of others when I patrolled earlier.”

“No. You felt them though, didn’t you? I wonder how formidable you might be were you less distracted.” Artemis turned his glare fully toward the other man, who only smiled slightly in response. He tapped lightly on the ground besides the mercenary, nudging the rifle barrel slightly to the side with his other, earning a full-on scowl.

“Worry not, my friend. Truly, they are here tonight only as my watchful guardians.” Artemis noted the specificity of that statement, knew immediately what purpose this strange man’s soldiers served on other days - weeds might have grown over the paths in recent years, but he knew a great many bodies lay scattered among them.

“What exactly do you do?” He asked though he suspected he already knew.

“I am a mercenary, much like yourself.”

“What use has a Vault for mercenaries?” Jarlaxle chuckled.

“Rather more than you might expect.” He leaned back on his elbows and looked out into the forest. “My people are rather… intense, in our ambitions. It makes for a lively atmosphere.” He crooked his fingers in a series of motions and off in the forest Artemis could see that same shadow shift, and turn away. He watched it go for several long moments before turning back to Jarlaxle, who appeared to be staring at him intently.

“How long were you able to follow his movement?”

“Long enough to have put a bullet in his head.” Jarlaxle huffed, nodded slowly. He fairly leapt back to a crouch, elbows and knees and hands clasped beneath his chin. Leaning close to Artemis, he grinned.

“I think, Master Entreri, that I may have work for you.” Artemis stared.

“Come again?” A thin white brow raised.

“You _are_ in the region to work, yes?” 

“…Yes.”

“Guarding caravans sounds incredibly dull.” Artemis agreed though he knew the dull jobs were the ones you came back from. He huffed at himself.

“All right then. Let’s hear it.”

Jarlaxle grinned.


End file.
